


It's Mine Now

by mysticmajestic



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Crack, Established Relationship, Fluff, Fluff and Crack, M/M, stealing clothes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-21
Updated: 2018-07-21
Packaged: 2019-06-13 19:42:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15371922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mysticmajestic/pseuds/mysticmajestic
Summary: All Lance wanted was to wear Shiro's vest. But since Shiro's very protective of it, wears it all the time, Lance has to resort to desperate measures to get his hands on it - meaning, he stole it right out of Shiro's laundry basket. Oops?





	It's Mine Now

**Author's Note:**

> On this beautiful day, the day Shiro became canonically LGBT+, I give you...whatever the hell this is. Enjoy!! 
> 
> Written for Laithen who wanted "Is that my shirt?" with Shance from a prompt list. :D
> 
>  **EDIT** There was a weird glitch that caused one specific paragraph to repeat two more times. I've fixed the error. Thank you to Choapie for pointing that out!

Lance is fresh out of clothes except for what he’s currently wearing, and even those ones are starting to smell a bit terrible. He’s _this close_ to having to change into his armour so he won’t offend everyone in the castle with his body odour. It’s time to do laundry.

The bundle of clothes he’s carrying down to the laundry room is so high he can barely see over the top of it. He’ll maintain to his dying day that if he steps on the mice, it’s purely their fault, even if Allura would make a pancake out of him in retaliation for killing her pets.

The laundry room is a small area near the infirmary. There are machines pinned to the wall not unlike washing machines and dryers back on Earth, but they take half the time and the clothes from the washer will move to the dryer without you having to be there.

There’s even an option to have your clothes folded and placed neatly in a basket that you leave in front of a square pipe protruding from the dryer, but Lance has never cared to wait so his clothes usually end up being stuffed, wrinkled, back into his wardrobe whenever he remembers to come back and get them.

Twenty-minutes to half an hour at most it takes, really, which is pretty convenient. Doesn’t mean that Lance will do laundry on a consistent schedule, though. He shoves everything in the washer and turns it on, then goes to leave when—

Is that Shiro’s laundry basket?

Approaching it, Lance realises that it _is_. These are Shiro’s clothes, all pressed and neatly folded, still kinda warm too. Weird! Shiro _never_ leaves his clothes in the laundry; he prefers to wait in here until it’s all done, then take them back to his room. He’s so militaristic about his living spaces, you wouldn’t know he actually lived here since he leaves nothing behind.

It’s a rare opportunity.

Sneaking Shiro’s vest out of the basket, Lance shoves it under his arm and scampers out of the laundry and back to his room, shoving it into his wardrobe. He curses the lack of clothes in it; there’s nothing to bury it under if Shiro comes looking for it.

But Lance really wants to wear it for once. It’s the only item of clothing that he’s never gotten the chance to wear because Shiro’s always wearing it—unless he’s put it in for the wash, and then he’s got it right back on anyway. It’s not fair! Shiro knows how much Lance wants to wear it.

Just as he slams the wardrobe shut, the alarms go off.

“Paladins!” Allura calls over the comms. “We’re under attack!”

Lance quickly forgets about the vest.

 

* * *

 

“I’m serious,” says Shiro, two days later once they’ve returned from a mission, “I put it in the wash and it’s not there anymore. One of you guys must have taken it.”

Lance tries not to fidget. Oh yeah, it’s still in his wardrobe. Just like his clothes are probably still lying in a heap on the laundry room floor. _Play it cool, Lancey-Lance. Just play it cool._

“Why would we want your vest?” asks Pidge, bored. She’s typing something out on her computer, fingers so fast they’re almost a blur.

“If anyone’s likely to have it, it’s Lance,” Keith points out. “He’s _your_ boyfriend.”

At that, Shiro turns to Lance and asks, “Well, Lance? Did you take it?”

“I—no, I didn’t.” Lance hasn’t even gotten the chance to wear the damn thing. Like hell is he going to out himself as a vest thief in front of everyone without wearing it once. “Don’t know what happened to it.”

“Well, your clothes were on the floor of the laundry room last I checked,” says Shiro, arching a brow. “So you must’ve been the last one in there.”

Fuck, shit, fuck. “Uh, well your vest was still in the basket when I was in there.”

“But—”

“Oh, give it a rest, Shiro!” snaps Pidge, eyes flashing as she looks up from her laptop. “We’ll find your vest soon enough, okay? The mice probably took it to make a nest out of it or something. Wouldn’t be the first time.”

But it’s clear that the loss of his belongings has set Shiro on edge a bit. As Hunk comes in from the kitchen with a tray of what he calls “Space enchiladas” for everyone to share, Shiro stands as rigid as a board, a muscle twitching in his jaw. Guilt surges through Lance. Maybe he should just give it back. He knows better than anyone that Shiro gets possessive over his stuff and anxious when it goes missing. Taking the vest had been a bad idea.

Yeah, after he eats his fill of Hunk’s tasty enchiladas, he’ll give it back.

 

* * *

 

He doesn’t give it back.

In an unforeseen turn of events, he caught some fucking virus native to the planet they’d been on and spends all his time clutching the toilet bowl for dear life the rest of the night. Just what the fuck is his life?

“I’ll go and get Coran,” says Shiro, after Lance throws up the second glass of water he’s tried to drink in the last hour. “If you can’t keep fluids down, it’s serious.”

“Don’t leave me,” Lance whines pathetically, reaching out for Shiro’s who’s already too far away to grab. “ _Shiro_.”

“I’ll be, like, two minutes, Lance. Just sit there and don’t move.” Shiro hurries out of the bathroom before Lance can even think of a response. Groaning, Lance spits into the toilet and wills his churning stomach to settle.

It’s uncertain how long it takes Shiro to get back with Coran because Lance did kinda pass out a bit, exhausted to the marrow of his bones. But in no time at all, he’s diagnosed with something so incomprehensible that there aren’t enough sounds in the English language to say it. Moved from the bathroom to the bedroom, losing a bit of time in between, he finds that Coran has inserted the correct dosage of drugs into his arm.

“You’ll feel better in a varga!” he promises. “So just rest up for now. I’ll let Allura know that training will have to be postponed, so no need to worry about that!”

“Thanks, Coran,” says Shiro. He sits on the bed by Lance’s feet and reaches out to rub Lance’s stomach, soothing the ache. Lance lets out a little incoherent noise of pleasure, twisting about until he’s properly on his back, as close as he can get.

“Don’t you worry about it Number 1. If you need anything else, you know where I’ll be.” The whoosh of Lance’s door is all that notifies Lance that Coran has left.

Lance quickly falls asleep, soothed by the continuous, gentle motion of Shiro’s hand on his stomach.

 

* * *

 

When he wakes up again, Lance feels like his head has been stuffed with cotton. To top it off, he has the driest mouth that tastes absolutely disgusting. Dragging himself out of bed, he shuffles into the bathroom to brush his teeth and rinse out his mouth. His stomach grumbles, hollow from the many hours he spent

He yawns loudly, only for shivers to wrack his body. It’s cold out here, and he’d almost forgotten how cold it could actually get. Going over to his wardrobe, he grabs the first thing he sees inside and puts it on. It’s a little bit big on him, whatever it is, but he chalks it up to him losing some weight from the illness. Doesn’t give a damn if it clashes with his clothes or something, he’s sick, goddamn it! Maintaining good fashion sense can wait. Right now, all he needs is food.

It’s quiet as he walks through the Castle. Must be the early hours of the morning, as the lights are still pretty dim. To his surprise, though, when he rounds the corner into the kitchen, he discovers that he’s not alone.

Sitting at the table with a datapad in his hand, Shiro glances over the top and sits up straight, smiling, when he sees Lance. “Hey! How long’ve you been awake?”

“Just woke up,” Lance rasps. “I’m hungry.”

Immediately, Shiro puts his datapad down and comes over to usher Lance into a chair. “I’ll get you something. You still look pretty pale. And—wait a second.” He frowns so deeply that wrinkles form between his brows. “Lance _, is that my vest_?”

“Wh-what?” Lance looks down, and yep. That’s Shiro’s vest alright. No wonder it had felt big on him; it _is_ big. It doesn’t come close to clinging to his chest like the way it does on Shiro’s. “Wow, gosh, would you look at that?”

“You had it the whole time?!”

“Uh,” Lance’s eyes dart to the left of Shiro and back, “no?”

“You’re a terrible liar, Lance.” Shiro folds his arms over his chest. “Why’d you take it? And! Why did you lie about taking it?”

“Because you never let me wear it! Every time I try, you’d take it away from me. So I took matters into my own hands. If it’s any consolation, it’s the first time I’ve ever worn it.” When Shiro continues to stare at him, Lance sighs and goes for the zipper. “If you really don’t want me to wear it, fine. I’ll give it back…” It was nice while it lasted, at least…

“No, wait!” Hand shooting out, Shiro pulls Lance’s fingers away from the zipper. “Don’t take it off. It looks good on you.”

“You’re not mad that I took it?”

“Uh, yeah, of course I am. I love that vest and you stole it. But…” Shiro sighs, visibly deflating. “If you really want to wear it, wear it. Like I said, it looks good on you. Next time, though, if you want to wear something of mine, just _ask_ first.”

“Will do.” Lance beams up at him, then twists his hand out of Shiro’s grip only to grab his wrist, pulling him down for a kiss. “So, um,” he whispers against Shiro’s lips, “about that food you were getting for me?”

Shiro snorts. “Coming right up, babe.”


End file.
